The Storm
by Timelord2012
Summary: After being forced to make a terrible choice, Merlin allows himself to be consumed by his rage and seeks to avenge his mother's death. Reveal Fic. BAMF!Merlin. (First ever fic posted, so I hope it lives up to expectations)


Merlin stares down at the face of his mother, her peaceful expression seeming so in contrast to the torturous way in which she died.

He feels lost, empty and broken, reeling at the loss of his mother, and yet also immensely guilty; it was his choice that caused her death. He wants to mourn her passing, and yet the tears don't come. Instead he is consumed with a bitter anger that encompasses his entire being.

Arthur is saying something to him, but the king's expressions of sorrow and sympathy are lost on the warlock. The touch of the king's hand on his shoulder brings a fresh wave of anger crashing through him, and his voice is harsh and bitter as he shouts " _get away from me!_ "

The king steps back, silently shocked at Merlin's sudden outburst but the warlock doesn't care. In this moment, he doesn't care about anything but avenging his mother's death. The cruel way she was taken from him haunts him, and he feels himself trembling in fury.

He's angry. Angrier than he has ever been in his life. At himself, for failing the woman he loved more than anyone; at Arthur for being so damn dependant on Merlin, and angry at his stupid, bloody destiny, for forcing him to care for Arthur so much. And, of course, he's beyond angry with the witch who caused all this. For forcing him to make the impossible choice.

For forcing him to choose between his mother and his king.

He feels his magic bubbling and boiling beneath his skin, and not caring that Arthur is so close, he allows it to consume him, to take over his consciousness. Above the warlock, the clouds begin to bubble up and blot out the midsummer sun, casting a dark shadow that mirrors Merlin's dark thoughts.

The witch is speaking again, taunting him, though Merlin barely hears her. "Now you know, _Merlin_ , just what it feels like to lose someone you love. You condemned my sister to death, you should have known I'd seek to destroy you."

Arthur is shouting at her, something about "evil" and "magic corrupting her soul", but the warlock isn't paying attention any more, so consumed now with the the all-encompassing rage that boils within him.

The clouds are darkening further, and the gentle breeze soon becomes a gale that tears at the grass and trees. It's a few moments before Arthur and the knights notice the sudden change in the weather, and quickly their swords are drawn and pointing at Morgana, fearing that she is the reason for the oncoming storm.

The witch, though, is as confused as the knights, though she hides it carefully. She knows that the knights pose no threat to her, not a high priestess, but the magic that's swirling around her is dark and powerful, and she feels fear grip her heart at what it means.

 _Emrys_ the winds howl at her, and her breath hitches in a sudden panic.

The first drop of rain hits her arm, and within seconds there is a deluge of icy cold rain hammering down, soaking through her clothes and drenching her tangled hair. Her own magic swirls uselessly within her, waiting for her to call it forth against the unseen threat.

Merlin rises from his mother's side and turns to face the witch, his entire being now focussed on her and her alone. He doesn't care – or perhaps he has forgotten – that Arthur stands only a few paces from him. He looks at the woman who killed his mother, and is almost satisfied when he sees her look back at him with terror in her eyes. The witch stumbles back slightly as the truth dawns, as she sees for the first time the blazing magic in Merlin's eyes, and he takes a bold step towards her.

"You should not have killed my mother." He speaks slowly and quietly, yet his voice is carried on the wind – _is_ the wind – and it is the most powerful and terrifying thing Morgana has ever heard.

" _Emrys_ ," she says in realisation, but her own voice is lost in the howling gale.

The warlock smirks darkly, his face lit by a sudden flash of lightning. The instant crash of the thunder tears through Morgana's heart, and she feels herself stumble slightly at the storm's power – at _Merlin's_ power.

Her magic reacts instinctively to protect her as she sees Merlin raise his hands towards her, and yet despite the shield she creates around herself she is still blasted twenty paces as Merlin's powerful spell hits her full in the chest.

She is winded as she smashes into the ground, and she can do nothing but gasp at Merlin's power. She is in shock, she realises, at discovering Merlin's true nature.

 _Merlin is Emrys... Emrys is Merlin..._ Had she come to this realisation at any other time she would have laughed that she'd ever been fearful of _Merlin_ ; but now, faced with the warlock's sheer power and raw magic, she knows she's a fool for ever doubting Emrys's power.

The words of the Caillach resurface in her mind.

 _He is your destiny and your doom..._

Morgana doesn't want to believe it, _won't_ believe it. She forces herself to stand and face him. She is a powerful high priestess – the last of her kind – and she won't allow herself to be destroyed by this _traitor_. She cannot fathom Merlin's reasons for staying loyal to her brother, and she finds herself empowered by her own fury that rises up to match his fierce storm.

Emrys is a cowardly, lowly bastard of a traitor, she thinks bitterly. Hiding in the shadows, living a life of lies and secrecy, pitting himself against those with magic – against _her_ – whilst protecting the man who seeks to destroy their kind.

And now his treachery is clear for all to see. Briefly, she wonders what Arthur will do to Merlin now that he has revealed his true power, but she realises she doesn't care; she will kill them all anyway. She allows her magic to envelope her before bringing it to focus. She will relish Merlin's – Emrys's – destruction at her hands. She sends out a blast of magic towards him, focussing all her energy into the spell. Emrys is powerful, she knows, and it will take all her strength to kill him.

She allows herself a smirk as the warlock is engulfed in flames that surround him in a blazing inferno, twisting and swirling as they are driven by the raging winds. But her smirk is replaced with shocked fury as she watches. The flames part and quickly die away to nothing as Emrys steps forward, completely untouched by the blistering heat. His eyes are burning gold and there is a cruel smirk that seems so wrong on Merlin's face.

Morgana barely has time to jump aside as a powerful fork of lightning hits the ground where she had stood a second before. The blazing heat leaves her face and arms scorched, and she is left completely blind for several seconds from the intensity of the light. The smell of her own burning flesh and scorched grass stings her nose, and she is engulfed with a wave of dizzy nausea. She blinks in the darkness, her breathing coming in ragged gasps from the shock of the fierceness of the attack. He is done playing games now; he seeks her death.

She tries to steady herself, blinking desperately to try and clear her vision. Her skin is burning from his attack, and the howling wind and rain claw at her clothes and hair. It is all she can do to stay standing against the onslaught. Before she has time to raise her magic for another spell, she feels herself blasted back again. She hears – and feels – a definite _snap_ as she crashes against the ground, and hears herself screaming at the pain that erupts in her leg, though the sound is lost to the roar of the storm.

And still Emrys is advancing on her and she knows she has lost. She feels disorientated and dizzy at the pain she is in, and her magic is confused and battered by the sheer, raw power of Emrys. Desperately she draws in a steadying breath to try and calm herself, and as the warlock raises his hand towards her to end her life, she draws every last bit of strength inward to herself, forcing her magic to obey her final command. As Merlin releases his magic towards her, she too releases her own spell and she disappears in a swirl of darkness as Merlin's power washes over the now empty space.

Realising that the witch had escaped him yet again, Merlin drops to his knees and roars in fury to the heavens, and the mighty thunder answers his rage. He screams himself hoarse, furious that he has failed once again. He has failed to protect his mother, and now he has failed to avenge her.

He stays there for several minutes – or maybe it was hours, he doesn't know – as the storm above rages on. The wind and rain chill him, and he realises he is shivering in the cold. He takes a steadying breath, and clenches his fists around handfuls of earth. The feeling of the earth's magic seems to calm him slightly and the storm cools a little in response. The wind dies down further as the warlock allows his breathing to steady, and though the rain is still heavy he knows the storm will pass soon.

As the winds ease and the thunder calms, Merlin becomes aware of his surroundings. He feels as though he is waking from a dream – a terrible nightmare – and he blinks away the last of his hysteria. Without looking, he is aware of the knights and Arthur standing some distance away, having fled from his power. He can feel their fear but he finds he doesn't yet care. He knows it will hit him, eventually, that he has just revealed his magic to his king, but he is drawn again to his mother's lifeless body. He goes to her, and is relieved to see that she alone remains untouched by the storm's fury. He gently brushes his hands through her hair and places a kiss on her forehead.

She looks so peaceful. He allows himself a brief smile at her beauty. He knows he must lay her to rest and so he gathers her up in his arms, barely aware of her dead weight. He strides past his fearful king, ignoring the way the blonde man staggers away from him as he passes. He walks purposefully through the rain towards the forest. He knows where he will lay her; there is a small hill about a two mile walk through the forest, where no trees grow. It is a beautiful spot that overlooks a glistening lake to the north, where he and his mother used to take picnics when he was a child.

He walks and walks, allowing each step to calm him further so that by the time he reaches the summit of the hill, the storm has completely died away to nothing but drizzle.

He places his mother's body on the crest of the hill, and carefully arranges her hands across her chest. He smooths out her hair and her dress, and places another last kiss against her forehead.

"I'm sorry, mother," he whispers softly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you. I love you, I hope you know that. I will always love you." He conjures a bouquet of white snowdrops – her favourite – and places them gently on her chest. Then he stands back and kneels down several paces away from her body. Placing his hands on the ground he draws on the earth's magic and as he whispers his spell, a great white marble tomb erupts from the ground to enclose her body. At its four corners, he calls forth cherry trees that instantly bloom under his magic, surrounding the marble tomb with beautiful white blossom.

He stands back to observe his work and is pleased; it is a fitting resting place for his mother. Not even kings are buried in such beautiful tombs. It would stand the test of time, an eternal reminder of the sacrifice given of the woman who had given birth to him, who had raised him and loved him more than any other.

He watches as the first glimmers of sun break through the clouds, and the world around him shimmers and sparkles in the sunlight. The air is crisp and clear after the storm, and Merlin allows himself to smile slightly at the way his mother's marble tomb seemed to glow.

And then he allows himself to cry. His grief is almost overwhelming, and his eyes sting with tears. He is exhausted after the events of the last few hours, and he allows himself to cry for his mother's death. He is fearful for his future; now that Arthur knows who he is, he wonders if he will still have a place in Camelot. He has lost everything today, his friends, his king... his mother... and Merlin feels more alone than he ever has in his life.

Merlin does not return until the following morning. The clouds have broken and are glowing brilliant reds, pinks and oranges in the early dawn light, heralding the oncoming sunrise.

Arthur is pacing. He hasn't stopped pacing since the minute after Merlin – the _sorcerer_ – had left with his mother in his arms. His knights had tried to encourage him to get some rest after it had fallen dark and the rain had dried up, but he found his mind was too active to even think of sleep. And so as soon as he'd become aware of the dawning light, he'd taken to pacing again.

He feels undeniably angry, and his fists hurt from where he has clenched them for so long. His sword – thrown in an initial fit of rage – lays half buried in the ground several paces from him. He hasn't bothered to retrieve it even though he has calmed slightly. What good would it do anyway, against a man who could summon a storm and bring lightning down on his enemies? Not even his sister had been able to challenge Merlin's power.

It was strange to think of _Merlin_ as being powerful. Merlin, his stupid bumbling _servant_ , the man who had washed his socks and mucked out his stables for the past five years. Merlin, who was the best friend that Arthur had ever had. Merlin – who was nothing but a lie.

Because Merlin was _Emrys._ That's what his sister had called him. _Emrys_ who had called forth a storm more fierce than any Arthur had ever seen before. _Emrys_ who had walked unscathed from Morgana's inferno. _Emrys_ who had brought terror into Morgana's heart – _his_ heart – and almost killed the witch without ever muttering a single, bloody spell.

And yet it was this Emrys who had saved him, and in doing so sacrificed his own mother.

No, not _Emrys_ , Merlin.

Because that was the choice that Merlin had been faced with – to save the life of Arthur, or his own mother. And he'd chosen Arthur. There hadn't been a moment of hesitation. Merlin had chosen to save him, his king, and had done so with a look of such devotion and certainty that it had taken Arthur's breath away at the time. And then Hunith had screamed in pain and dropped down dead before he or his knights could do anything.

And Merlin had run to his mother's side as Morgana laughed, and yet still he had never shown any signs of regretting his decision. Arthur couldn't comprehend the sheer loyalty shown by his servant then, and now that he knows of Merlin's powers, his mind still can not comprehend why Merlin would choose his life over that of his mother's.

His mind is still in turmoil when he becomes aware that his knight's have grown silent in their conversations and were focussing on a spot just behind Arthur, their faces showing fear and uncertainty.

He turns, his heart hammering in sudden fear and he looks upon the man standing before him. _Not Emrys_ , he thinks, _Merlin_. There is no trace of the powerful storm-bringer, instead his dishevelled servant stands there, his eyes reflecting the fear in Arthur's heart. His face is blotchy and his eyes red from where he has been weeping, and he looks exhausted.

He's almost angry at how his heart leaps at the sight of him. He wants to go to him, to offer him comfort in his time of grief as Merlin had done for him when his father had passed.

 _I didn't want you to feel you were alone._

But he stops himself. The man standing before him is a lie. He is haunted by the image of Merlin's cold smirk moments before he attempted to kill Morgana with lightning. How can he possibly offer any comfort to this _sorcerer_ – lying, scheming, _traitor_ – when his mind is telling him he should be running him through?

He gasps as Merlin raises his hand towards him, and he almost expects to be blasted back like Morgana was when his eyes begin to glow gold. But he feels nothing.

He frowns slightly before noticing his sword has raised itself at the sorcerer's silent command and is now moving towards him. Behind him he hears the chilling sound of his knights drawing their swords; they too must think that Merlin – _Emrys_ – is about to finish Arthur off with his own sword. But the glistening weapon stops in front of the king at the level of his hand. He grasps it and takes its weight before Merlin releases it from his spell.

The sorcerer drops to his knees, and Arthur cannot fathom what he is doing until he speaks.

"That sword was forged in dragon fire." Merlin's voice is rough and hoarse, and Arthur swallows against his instinct to go to him. "If there is any weapon that can kill me, that is it. I won't stop you..." the sorcerer chokes back a sob and roughly wipes a lone tear away. He is looking at the ground now so Arthur can't see his expression. "If you want to kill me, I won't stop you. It would be what I deserve. I couldn't save her... I failed... I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice trembling and his tears were flowing freely now. "Arthur, I'm so, so sorry."

The king grips his sword tighter. He takes a step forward, not sure what he is going to do now. His mind is torn; he wants to run the sorcerer through right away, and yet wants to offer his friend some comfort in his raw grief.

Merlin takes a deep breath as he watches his king approach, his eyes full of fear. Arthur can see in his eyes that Merlin thinks he will kill him. "Oh gods," the sorcerer gasps, as more tears follow those he tries to wipe away. "Make it quick, Arthur, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. I never wanted to lie to you, I promise. I never meant for this to happen. I wanted to protect you... everything is for you. I'm sorry, so sorry..."

He stills his trembling as he feels the cold steel of Arthur's sword press against his neck. "You've betrayed me," Arthur says, his voice sounding hard despite Merlin's sobs. "You practice magic when it is forbidden, why would you?" His voice breaks, betraying the deep sorrow he feels in the face of Merlin's apparent treachery. Merlin – his friend, his _brother_ in all but blood – who has lied to him from the beginning.

"I didn't _choose_. I was born with magic, Arthur. I never wanted to lie to you. I'm _sorry_." He breaks down into a fresh wave of sobs, and the sword – always incredibly sharp – cuts slightly into Merlin's flesh. Not deeply, but enough to make Merlin wince and a thin trickle of blood runs down onto Merlin's shirt. It would take less than a second and Arthur could completely cut Merlin's throat open. And yet the sorcerer does nothing to protect himself. Arthur watches him, and a small part thinks that this might all be a trick, to deceive the king into forgiving him so that he can gain more power over Arthur, but instantly he silences that thought. Why would a man with Merlin's power need to use further deception?

He looks into Merlin's eyes and sees the raw emotion there, the overwhelming grief and sorrow, the guilt and shame of lying to his king. And Arthur knows he can never kill him.

This is _Merlin_.

 _His_ Merlin.

His stupid, loyal, brave, clumsy, bloody _idiot_ of a manservant. He pulls his sword away from his neck, and the sorcerer flinches as if waiting for Arthur to deliver the final blow, but instead Arthur plunges the weapon into the soft ground and kneels in front of his sobbing servant. In one movement, Arthur wraps his arm around Merlin's neck, pulling the man towards him until his face is buried in his neck, and Merlin weeps in relief at Arthur's embrace whilst his king roughly pushes his fingers through Merlin's hair in comfort.

"Merlin," Arthur whispers, "I'm sorry. About your mother, I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything..." He holds Merlin further as the man continues to sob until he takes a staggering breath and pulls out of Arthur's embrace.

The two men watch each other for a moment before Arthur speaks again. "You should have saved her, Merlin. Instead of me. She was your mother, I would have understood –"

"No!" Merlin's voice is hoarse, and he looks at Arthur in desperation, as though pleading with him to understand. "No, there was never any choice. I had to save you. I _had_ to. You're the reason... you're _everything_ , Arthur." The sorcerer takes a deep breath as though trying to clear his own mind before continuing. "You're the reason I exist. My magic, my life, everything I do is for you, Arthur. To protect you."

The king shakes his head, unable to comprehend Merlin's devotion to him. It makes no sense – why a sorcerer with Merlin's power would choose to dedicate his life to him, so much so that he was willing to sacrifice his own mother for his life.

"I don't understand. She was your _mother_ -"

"I know. _I know,_ " Merlin closes his eyes tightly as fresh tears threaten to fall, "and she was the greatest woman ever, I love her more than I can possibly express. But I had to save you. Even if you hate me, even if you want me dead or choose to kill me, I still had to choose your life over hers. It's my destiny to save you."

Arthur pulls back slightly, feeling strangely hurt by Merlin's confession, though he can't comprehend why. "So you save me – and sacrifice your mother – for some _destiny_? That's ridiculous. What about your own free will? What about what _you_ wanted?"

Merlin huffs in frustration, annoyed that his king apparently doesn't understand the reasoning behind his devotion. "This _is_ what I want! I mean, obviously I didn't want my mother killed – _never_ that – but I want you to live. When I first met you, I only saved you then because I'd been told it was my destiny, but then I got to know you. And now I do what I do because – hell, I can't believe I'm saying this to you, you _prat_ – because I love you, Arthur. She was my mother, but you are my _life_."

Arthur nods, though he still cannot comprehend Merlin's reasoning. All he knows is that the man before him is completely loyal to him.

"I know you're angry with me, furious in fact," Merlin continues, confirming to Arthur that his servant knows him better than he knows himself, "and you have every right to be. You should hate me, but all I ask is that you give me the chance to explain myself to you. Properly. What you saw yesterday... that's not me, that's not what my magic is like usually. I lost myself to my anger, and I'm sorry. But I want to show you how beautiful magic can be."

Arthur wipes a hand over his face in contemplation. Merlin seems so genuine and eager to tell him more, but Arthur feels he has already had to deal with enough for today. He feels exhausted himself, and knows that he is not ready for the difficult conversations that they need to have. And he knows Merlin's not ready either, too raw from the loss of his mother.

He nods. "All right," he says, standing up whilst Merlin remains kneeling in front of him. "But not now. I need time to think, and so do you. We need to return to Camelot, we'll talk there."

Merlin gasps and looks up at him. "I'm not banished then?"

"No, you may return with me. But you won't be my servant. You may help Gaius with his duties, but I don't wish to see you until I am ready. I need time."

Merlin nods in understanding, though his eyes betray his slight disappointment.

"Come, then," Arthur says, and offers his hand to Merlin. The warlock pauses for a second whilst he searches the king's face, before he grasps it and allows Arthur to pull him to his feet. He's a little unsteady at first but Arthur holds him for a second and they watch each other carefully. "Let us return to Camelot."

Merlin nods in affirmation and both the king and Warlock turn to watch the sun rise above the horizon as the new dawn breaks, bathed in the golden light of the new day. Neither knows what the future will hold, but Merlin cannot help the small smile that graces his lips as he begins forwards with his king into the new dawning of Albion.


End file.
